


Navigational Errors

by dedougal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-24
Updated: 2012-08-24
Packaged: 2017-11-12 18:59:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/494581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is ready for the next step. Almost ready.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Navigational Errors

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the stop_drop_howl 24 hour fiction challenge. From the prompt "Making a map of your skin." by night_reveals. Thanks to dizzzylu for the hand-holding.

Stiles used to be really uncomfortable of stripping off in front of Derek. Any clothing removal was a bad thing. Maybe he could go as far as allowing for removal of a sock. But he was leery of exposing actual skin. Touching under clothes was good. Nakedness, especially in any kind of light, was a no. That hadn’t been a problem the first few times they’d _gotten it on_ being as Stiles had oh so teenagey come in his pants. Which was exactly as sticky and messy and amazing as it had sounded every time he’d even imagined it.

Plus he’d made Derek come in his pants a time or two as well. Which made him awesome.

On the other hand, Derek had no issues with shirtlessness. Derek had the kind of body that shirtlessness was designed for. When he was wearing shirts – regardless of whether they were button-down, t-shirt or (Stiles’ personal favorite) wifebeaters – his muscles, his arms, the curve of his spine screamed “I look amazing half naked”. Stiles had been mainly objective as when he worked this out, observing Derek closely in a variety of environments and under a range of different types of pressure. Scientific. That’s what he was. He didn’t count sneaking a peek at Derek’s tendency to work out shirtless as part of the experiment. That was like foreplay.

But he and Derek had not really gone down the nakedness route. Not yet. Almost. His poor baby Jeep had seen something that almost looked like him exposing his poor milk white body to outside air that one time when Derek and he had been getting to interesting places. Once. Before his dad (oh god, humiliation flashback) had knocked on the window and told them not to park in a no parking zone and that Derek was invited to dinner.

Dinner. Which his dad had been called into the station from. Leaving him and Derek alone in the house. The house where his bed was. And no matter how often Derek had been in his room hiding out or threatening him or even doing both at the same time, they hadn’t been there since their propensity for rubbing off against each other had started. The woods, yes. His house. No. Which meant they were back to the whole possible nakedness thing.

Fuck.

Well. There was that too. Stiles could feel his heart start to race as he stared at his congealing pasta and tried to swallow down his panic. Derek’s hand at the back of his neck was unexpected and kinda heavy but not entirely unwelcome.

“So I think my dad liked you better when you were a murder suspect.” Stiles knew he was aiming for levity but the joke fell flat like so many of his experimental attempts at humour. Derek’s hand squeezed and then he stood up and incongruously started clearing the table. Silence – awkward, hard, clunky, unbreakable silence – sprung up and while Stiles desperately racked his brain for something, anything, a fragile shimmering glimmer of a hope of a conversation starter that wouldn’t reignite Derek’s impulse to pull Stiles’ lungs out through his throat. Though he was actually one hundred percent sure that any actual bodily harm beyond the odd hickey was pretty much off the menu.

The way Derek was breathing at his back, warm, strong, begging to be shirtless, little huffs of air making the shaved hair at the back of his neck stand on end in a really nice tingly kind of way made Stiles wonder if speaking was maybe overrated anyway. He leaned back, pushing against Derek, fitting himself along his body, feeling his hotter than normal (temperature and… the other meaning) curve around him. Derek kissed down his neck, at the place where his throat met his shoulder, his shoulder. His t-shirt would never be the same from the way Derek was stretching the neck wide for access.

Finally Stiles decided he’d have to get this over some time. “Upstairs?”

“You sure?” Stiles could hear Derek’s hesitation. He could feel the way every muscle in Derek’s body was taut, desperate to grab him and carry him off like some kind of werewolfy caveman. Stiles was momentarily grateful he didn’t have hair for Derek to drag him by. So Derek was ready, willing and able and Stiles’ heart was beating just a little too hard for comfort and he was sure just not all the way sure.

“Mostly.” And there were his (almost) virginal maidenly blushes. He was a guy. He was a teenage guy. He was in his sexual prime. An oddly shaped table leg got him hot, all engines go, pedal to the metal. His dick was on board but there was still that stupid, whining little voice at the back of his mind laughing at him because he didn’t want Derek to see him naked. How was that for honesty?

Derek kissed his neck again, tongue dipping out to taste. “Trust me?” 

Okay. That was unexpected. And, like, vulnerable. Stiles spun around in the circle of Derek’s arms and looked him in the eyes. He was maybe taking too long to answer this but it was important that Derek see and smell and feel that he meant it. “Yeah.” 

 

So he’d tidied his bedroom earlier. Not because he’d hoped this might happen. Nope. He’d tided to give himself something to do to stop himself worrying about what was going to happen at dinner. This hadn’t even entered his thoughts. His dad had cleaned too. He’d cleaned his guns. All of them. Purposefully. But his dad was elsewhere and Stiles was here and Derek was here and it was all good. Stiles did, however, allow himself a pat on his back as he looked at the nice neat sheets and the lack of shit to fall over. He could do this. Then Derek peeled off his shirt.

Every time, Stiles swore his heart skipped a beat. Every fucking time. Derek looked around and then tossed his shirt onto the floor. One of those elegant, swift and mildly creepy werewolf moves and he was sprawled on the bed, back propped against Stiles’ pillows. Stiles kicked the door closed and hit the light. 

He felt braver in the dark. For once.

Derek’s arms were warm and familiar and making out was so good. Derek’s skin was so soft under his palms, slicking a little with sweat now. And his lips tasted like dinner and something exciting, intoxicating and wild. Then he reached out and flicked Stiles’ bedside lamp on. Soft, warm, fuzzy good feelings vanished in an instant as Stiles sat up and folded his arms across his chest.

“Put it off.” He sounded miss-ish and petulant and couldn’t care less. “Now.”

“No.” Derek still needed to work on his persuasion techniques. Flat out negatives were not going to persuade Stiles Stilinski of anything.

“Yes. Off. Now.” He dug his heels in. Then he brought out the big guns. He pouted.

Derek shifted under him, thighs bunching in his jeans. Stiles let out a noise that was possibly a whimper as the rough material brushed his really hard dick. But Derek wasn’t interested in that. Instead he was working himself up to a sitting position so his eyes were level with Stiles’. Then he lifted his hand and stroked along Stiles’ cheek and under his chin. “You’ve got a scar here.” His fingertips found the tiny faded white mark where he’d split his chin open the first time he’d rode a skateboard and fallen off onto really solid concrete. Then Derek leaned in and kissed it, tipping Stiles’ head back.

That- Nope. Stiles didn’t know what this was.

Next thing he knew, Derek had kidnapped one of his hands and it to his mouth. He laid a feather light kiss over Stiles’ index finger. “And here.”

“Skateboard.” Stiles pointed to his chin. “And camping trip with Scott.”

“Here?” Derek’s mouth found another long healed injury, faded with time. Stiles couldn’t think what might have happened there.

“No idea. That one’s a chicken pox scar.” Stiles pointed to another raised bump on one of his knuckles. Derek kissed it.

“Then there’s freckles.” Derek seemed to be talking to himself now, kissing up Stiles’ arm. He licked over another thin, white mark. Which should have been gross but made Stiles shiver and his dick throb and maybe this was okay.

“I fell down a tree. Matching scar on my leg.” Not that anyone could see it. He’d been, what, eight when it happened? “Scott…”

“You shouldn’t hang out with Scott. He’s hazardous to your health.” Derek delivered it deadpan but Stiles could see the mischief dancing in Derek’s eyes. Mischief and lust – yup, that dark sparkle was lust. He was lusting after Stiles Stilinski. And when did Stiles start talking about himself in the third person? – and there was something else going on there too that made Stiles duck his head, shy all of a sudden.

Derek’s hands slid under the hem of his t-shirt and started tugging it up. Stiles held on for a moment before he let Derek pull it up and off. Stiles was caught. He desperately wanted to cover up but Derek had recaptured his hand with one of his sneaky ninja moves and the other one had too many places to cover at once and just fluttered about helpless. Stiles decided a hasty retreat was in order and grabbed onto Derek’s chest, enjoying the flex of muscle under his palm. Focus on Derek. That would work. And Derek did look _fine_.

“Hey! Where’s the evidence of your childhood disasters? Or are you too perfect to…” Stiles rubbed his hand in an absent circle. Derek’s skin was smooth and perfect. Too perfect. “Werewolf healing?”

Derek hauled his eyes up to meet Stiles’ for an instant, nodding, but his attention dipped and then he was lifting Stiles (and being manhandled wasn’t hot. Not at all. Except when it totally was) and pressing Stiles back against his own pillows. 

Now Stiles had maybe explored Derek’s naked shirtless gorgeous a few times. But nothing prepared him for the way Derek drew his tongue over Stiles’ bicep, his collarbone, tasting and scenting and drawing the nub of one of Stiles’ nipples into his mouth. Hands over clothes, under clothes had been hot but it was nothing, _nothing_ , compared to the way Derek was tracing every bit of his chest. His puny, unimpressive, ordinary Stilinski chest. Which Derek was licking and kissing and tasting like it was haute cuisine or something.

“What’s this one?” Derek curved his tongue over a shiny pink burn scar.

“Set my shirt on fire with a Bunsen burner.” Stiles was embarrassed about that one. He’d been worse when he’d been younger with the twitching and the flailing and he hadn’t meant to knock it over. There had been quite a fire by the time his clothes and the desk and pretty much all the books and jotters on the desk had gone up.

Derek kissed it, a wet, filthy open-mouthed kiss, and Stiles melted back against his sheets. His dick was pulsing in this weird urgent-and-yet-not way, a constant reminder of how fucking amazing Derek was. How amazing Derek looked. And felt. And how talented his mouth was. And his fingers. Which were pressing against Stiles’ dick. No. Not pressing. Unzipping.

Cold panic washed over Stiles. This was also new. Sure he’d had Derek’s hand down his pants. And Derek had to have felt his dick from all the time Stiles had used his thigh as some kind of masturbatory aid. But. Light. And naked. And it was too late as Derek pulled his jeans open and his cock was free and out in the open. There. With Derek’s nose pointing right at it. Stiles grabbed at the sheets rather than give in to the urge to shove it all away. 

“This one?” Derek kissed at the faint triangle right at the edge of Stiles’ hip. “What caused this?”

“Fell off a swing set. Tried to go too high.” Stiles’ hips punched into the air as Derek swept his lips sideways, tongue dipping out to lick at Stiles’ dick. Mouth on his dick. Blowjob. Right. Stiles thought about the hospital visit that had followed that particular fall in order to not fall apart right then and there. He was already starting to worry that he was going to vibrate so hard he’d slip into another dimension or something. Where Derek wouldn’t be gearing up to go down on him. And that would be, like, the worst disaster ever. “No scars there. Just in case you were wondering. Or looking.”

Derek huffed out a soft sound that Stiles interpreted as a laugh – and, hey, no one likes their dick laughed at – but he sucked the head of Stiles cock into his mouth before Stiles could draw breath to protest. It was monumentally hard, but Stiles kept his eyes open, watching to make sure that this was actually happening as Derek hollowed his cheeks, held Stiles steady with one hand and slid down, taking him into that warm, wet heat. Derek didn’t have his eyes open, eyelashes fanned out on his cheek, perfect dark semi-circles making his cheekbones even sharper above the pout of his mouth.

Then Derek looked at him.

That faint urgency? Yeah. That wasn’t so faint now. It was more of a freight train barrelling through his body at blistering speed. Every nerve in his body was on fire as Stiles’ entire world narrowed down to the man kneeling between his legs and the gentle, firm pull on his cock as Derek slid back up, whipping his tongue across this spot just right, just under the head, that made Stiles shatter. He knew he was speaking, words tearing themselves out of his gut as Derek kept licking and stroking, letting Stiles fall apart, taking care of him.

It took some time for Stiles’ heartbeat to return to normal. His brain also seemed to be stuck in a loop of yes and wow and Derek and yes. When his brain rebooted, Stiles was aware his dick was still on display, a wet sticky mess. He was also very aware of his bad manners. “I’m supposed to say something. And you? Can’t leave you hanging? Oh. I’m just such a bad host.”

Derek huffed out another one of those noises Stiles knew were this kind of private laugh. Derek wouldn’t never be one to hand out belly chuckles and massive grins. He looked kinda creepy when he grinned. Something to do with all those teeth. Anyway. This noise was as close as Derek got to an outright chuckle and it was pretty much something he only did around Stiles. Derek’s lips pressed against his hip, his side, swirled around a nipple before finding Stiles’ own lips ready and waiting. Tasting himself? Definitely hot.

“Came in my pants. Again.” Derek whispered it against Stiles’ mouth. “You have no idea what you look like.”

And the urge to cover himself up was there again. Derek obviously had something against shirts though because Stiles could see his t-shirt on the opposite side of the room when he craned his neck up to look for it. “Uh, sorry.”

Derek kissed him again, this time his tongue licking deep into Stiles’ mouth in a way that was… possessive? Definitely dirty enough to have Stiles’ cock twitching against his leg, trying vainly to get hard already. Derek took care of the covering up by pressing his own naked chest against Stiles, hot and hard and Stiles was allowed to touch and feel and suddenly he got it. 

“More shirtlessness, right?” Stiles had to pull himself away just to check. Derek let out a sound that might have been frustration but might also have been a growl. Stiles corrected himself with, “But only around you?”

“Damn right,” Derek muttered, pulling away with a final lick to Stiles’ cheek. Okay. So maybe he could get used to this naked thing after all. Especially when Derek hauled him close and Stiles dipped into a comfortable post-orgasm doze. He couldn’t wait to see Derek’s ass out of his jeans after all.


End file.
